Lost throne
by Flowing Tears
Summary: One Kaiba brother reflects on just how much power he has over other now, and how that power is slowly slipping through his fingers. One-shot for now.


Title: Lost throne

Summary: One Kaiba brother reflects on just how much power he has over other now, and how that power is slowly slipping through his fingers. One-shot for now.

Genre: Angst

Rating and Warning: T for hints of abuse. Language, suggestive themes.

Disclaimer: How do I keep forgetting these things! I do not own anything Yu-Gi-Oh related.

A/N: This is originally a one-shot. I do have an idea to add a few chapters, but I don't know if I will ever work on those. If I do continue I think I might move this story to another pairing, change the rating maybe, or not. If I do update and move this to another pairing, I will notify reviewers of this. That a good idea? I think so. Let me know if you know anything better though. For now, please enjoy.

…- Lost throne -…

One of my favourite stories took place around four hundred years ago.

It was a legend, of a small village where people lived a happy life. It was peaceful there because it was hidden in a big forest, and not many travellers came there.

That peace was disturbed when one evening a group of village teens went into the forest to gather seeds of flowers that only bloomed at night, when the moon was blue. It was an easy task that would take all night, they were expected back at dawn without any problems.

But when they returned, it was nowhere near dawn, and one of the teens was missing.

The teenagers had been attacked by a ghost, they said. A ghost had come running out of the mist, from between the darkness of the trees and had killed a young girl when she had ventured away from the group. They had tried to come to her aid when she had screamed in terror, but were too late. The attack had seemed at random, but no one could have been sure. The elders of the village, though saddened because of the sudden loss, had thought nothing of it, and dismissed it.

That was until, seemingly lacking a reason, the next night the ghost returned. It had come as close as the edge of the community. Attacked a man that had been chopping wood just outside his house at the outskirts of the village. Witnesses claimed the ghost had taken him with much brutality when he had tried to put up a fight. I personally think brutality is a beautiful word, but I should stick to the story.

Because from then on the people were truly frightened. The ghost would return every night and kill one person. It came without seeming to have a reason, killed at random, and disappeared without taking any spoils. After a while the people of the village grew desperate. They became scared, some moved away, but there were people who loved their village, who wanted to stop the ghost from coming, people that stayed.

So the mayor of the village gathered a few of the bravest men and when the ghost came and killed another innocent person, the group followed the spirit back into the forest. They stalked it for hours, until the moon was high in the sky. With the moon at its highest the ghost disappeared into the mist of the forest. The group of men had found what appeared to be the ghost's resting place. The grave was at peace, and nothing gave them a clue as to who the ghost had been when still alive.

Unable to do anything they returned to the village, and for the upcoming nights the people tried various things to keep the ghost at bay, but to no avail. It seemed as if the ghost knew what to do, how to act, who to take. The ghost continued to take a life every night, until one day the last of the people left their beloved home, fearing death over the loss of their village to this phantom. Only an old woman stayed. She didn't have any family that could take her with them, and the few friends she had were either dead or long gone.

And it was that night the ghost came again, but it couldn't find a new victim to kill. It remained in the village, day in, day out, waiting for a new victim he could claim, a new assignment to fulfil. It haunted the old woman, followed her wherever she would go, but it didn't kill her.

Because she was the one calling it night after night. And it came, obediently, every time.

Nobody knows why she kept calling the ghost, or who the ghost was when it was alive, but I like to associate myself with them. I think myself to be the old woman, and my dear brother to be the ghost that comes when I need him, the ghost that does what I want him to.

Throughout the years I watched as my brother was beaten down, again and again, and he would rise to power, again and again.

People say my brother is strong, cold. A heartless bastard that has only eyes for me.

They are right.

"Mokuba, it's time for bed." I look up from the book I've been staring at and look at my dear brother. He is only seventeen, but people mistake him to be much older by the way he acts and looks. Especially by the way he looks.

"Alright." I smile at him and it is as if the world's weight is lifted from his shoulders. His azure eyes light up and I can see a hint of what is going to be a smile. The years fall with it, and I think he doesn't look a day over twenty-five. Which isn't really a good thing.

I rid myself of my book and obediently follow him.

"I'll be home early tomorrow. Do you want to eat out?" Out… He doesn't like going out. He pretends to though, for me, but I'm a little more social then he is. Well, I don't have thousands of people after me. It is annoying to see how many people try to get close to him.

It is a lot of fun watching them try.

He is always so secluded, at such a great distance from other people. Which is why I feel special, in a way. I know how vulnerable he is, that vulnerability that circles back to his mistrust to people. If they find out he is actually a wreck, fragile, all will probably go to hell.

People know where his weak spot is, and he has to protect me with such a ferocity I sometimes wonder why he does it the way he does. Brotherly love, I tell myself then, but maybe it's deeper then that? If he would have to pick between shooting himself through the head, or me, he wouldn't hesitate to point the barrel at himself. I do feel such a thing is slightly unhealthy, for the spirit that it. But Seto has never been healthy in the head.

I doubt that he knows he has given me power over him, more then he should have given me. I know I can make or break him, something I find disturbingly interesting. I know that he lives for me, and only for me.

When we reach my room I slide past him towards my bed. I'm already dressed for bed, the sooner I can get to sleep the longer I can sleep. I'm not a morning person. Seto told me I take dawn of the dead to the next level. Funny bastard. Believe it or not, but the only reason he comes home at this ungodly late hour is because I need my sleep. Sitting there and watching my alarm clock I see it's only ten, which means he came home from work early. He has been coming home _early_ for the last couple of days.

Which rarely happens. I'm not sure what happened, but there has been a change. I think it just happened, wasn't something that grew overtime. It was just there, and I think I figured out what it is.

Seto seems to be even more edgy then usual. He always relaxes when he comes home and escorts me to bed, but in the past few days he hadn't relaxed. He looks around the room as if someone is following him. Sometimes he catches me staring, and then he looks away and I can see a hint of a smile and his face gains just a little more colour.

He is seventeen, and I read enough books to know what he wants and needs. Something I know I can't give him.

You wouldn't believe how many people have tried to get his attention, and as some say it, in his pants. It's almost scary sometimes, but to be honest, I know what other people see in him.

Seto is very clever, a genius, so smart he even amazes me every now and then. He has achieved so much for his age, and I am very proud to call myself his little brother, even if I have to hide in his shadow.

Seto is, I suppose, beautiful. I do think he's handsome, to some extend. His hair is soft, his skin is soft, he smells nice, and he looks good in anything he wears. I think that, what I love most about him are his eyes. He wears an icy mask to cover up any emotion, but his eyes, if you can read them, if you look close enough, you can see just how emotional he really is. Being able to read him like a children's book is a part of what I own over him. I learned to read him, know what action is the cause of what emotion. Someone else won't see it, but he can become very emotional. Others see a mask, a bastard, ice, but I see it when he is in pain, or angry. Other emotions are harder to spot, but he doesn't know how to express himself. He has never been able to express himself very well, which is, as I read a part of what being a genius is all about. Not to mention our stepfather has beaten the remainder of being human out of him.

Had I mentioned he looked good in everything he wears? Of course he hides himself in layers of clothing. If people only knew what I know, then they wouldn't find him beautiful anymore. I have seen what our stepfather did to him on numerous occasions, and I know I've only seen a fraction of what has happened to him.

I've seen the wounds heal, and I suppose the scars will fade as he gets older.

"Good night." He had been staring again, again ever since that change.

"Night Seto. I love you." I smile at him and his eyes light up again, as if my smile has been the only reason he does what he does to get here at the end of the day.

"Love you too." He does have a handsome smile, even if it's only the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. I whish he would use it more often. I watch him leave my room, can see his face in a mirror when he walks past it and I see that look again. That dreamy, far away look I have been seeing several times before this week. I don't think I know anymore, I _know_ I know.

My brother is in love. There is someone out there that has stolen his heart, cracked and melted the ice around it, someone besides me that is worthy of his attention and love.

And I don't like it.


End file.
